


No Hands, No Problem

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Episode Related: S1E9 Close Quarters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle have been sleeping together for nearly five months when Bodie nearly gets himself killed trying to take on the Myer-Helmut group (literally) single-handed. Doyle must seek solutions to two problems: how to deal with his own encroaching jealousy, and how to give himself and his partner what they need after a stressful op -- when Bodie's hands are both out of action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hands, No Problem

* * *

  
'Just take me home, Ray.'

He'd been distracted, and his date hadn't gone well. The words were spoken with an air of frustration and finality. No promise in them. 

_Bloody hell. Another one bites the dust._

'Bodie. Bloody Bodie,' he muttered aloud, as he watched Daphne disappearing into her house.

It wasn't Bodie's fault, of course, but Doyle blamed him anyway. He sped home in the car he'd checked out for the evening, thinking of how ephemeral everything in his life was. Temporary home, temporary cars, temporary girls. The only _permanent_  things were the job that gave him this life, and the partner who made it bearable.

 _Is that true?_  he asked himself, surprised at the maudlin turn of his thoughts.

Christ, if he were _that_  miserable, he could pack the bloody thing in any time he liked. Whatever George Cowley might think, there was nothing in the CI5 small print about souls. No -- it wasn't _Cowley_  who owned Doyle's soul. Not that _that_  was much comfort, when Doyle knew too well who did. But even then, he was still his own man, wasn't he? It might hurt him to do it, but he _could_  leave. Become a _voluntary_  itinerant. That thought made him smile. He could buy a van on the cheap, something that'd fit his stuff, including his bike. He could join the convoys of travellers who cruised festivals: the ones Cowley said were one step from anarchy and therefore CI5's jurisdiction. Doyle's smile widened at the thought of being in CI5's jurisdiction.

Must've been a bad day. It was normally reassuring to Doyle, knowing he was on the side of law and order. That knowledge had saved him -- disciplined him. It had shaken him out of the rut of violence he'd been in as a youth, the danger of which was constantly increasing. There were only so many times one could get away without being caught. Doyle had never actually killed during the fights he'd got into, but he'd maimed. A few more gos at that -- face it, even _one_  more go -- and it could've been at least five years inside, and all the consequences that brought for slim, pretty young men. Then out, and to what? He'd've had form. No chance at a police career. Perhaps not any career at all. Society didn't look with a friendly eye upon reforming villains.

 _Would you really change anything? Be anywhere else on earth?_  Doyle asked himself as he drove. _Where else is home?_  And then the horrible truth: _Wherever_ he _is._

And that man, whom Doyle adored against his own better judgement, had almost died today. After the dregs of the op were mopped up, Doyle had wanted, more than anything, to stay with Bodie: make sure he had what he needed. A shoulder to cry on? Not bloody likely. Sympathetic ear, then. Drinking partner? Maybe. Silent company in front of the telly? Likely, knowing Bodie, especially if the football highlights were on. Sex? Probably, though they'd have to go carefully with both Bodie's hands injured. It didn't matter _what_  he needed, though. Doyle would give him anything.

But Bodie had made his position clear the moment Doyle had arrived at the house. He'd pushed him away, gone to Julia, led her away with a comforting arm around her shoulders. As if _she_  were the one who needed it! In the second before Bodie had dislodged himself from Doyle's hold, he'd been visibly, understandably, shaken. But had _Julia_  thought about that? Oh, no. Even as Doyle realised he was being unreasonable, that she wasn't used to violence; she thought she'd killed someone; she'd been close to, if not actually _in_  shock, he resented her for leaching comfort from Bodie's embrace, while giving none in return. He knew Bodie would have felt better through being strong for her, but it wasn't the same thing.

Doyle remembered how she'd wept, bursting unreservedly into tears of relief when ballistics had called in with the news that Julia's bullet had gone wild of its target, and it was Doyle's gun that had killed Inga Helmut. He remembered how Bodie had held her against his shoulder, how he'd whispered endearments and reassurances to her. And OK, maybe Doyle would feel daft doing that for Bodie, and he'd feel downright insulted if Bodie did it for him ... 

 _Would_  it be so daft, though? Doyle sure as hell wanted the chance to find out. But it wasn't jealousy that made him mad, or even the knowledge that he _was_  jealous, which was usually enough to make him want to break heads.

Bodie didn't work alone. He was half of a partnership. The thought of him on his own, cornered, made Doyle feel physically sick. Knowing he couldn't possibly have been there didn't make him feel any better. He and Bodie were supposed to guard each other's backs. And alright, maybe Doyle had turned up at the last minute, but he'd seen the look in Bodie's eyes as he'd helped him to his feet. He'd believed he was going to die. Alone. Perhaps not literally, but as far as Doyle was concerned ...

God, he'd wanted to hold him so badly. He'd needed it as much as he thought Bodie did. But because of the way the world was, the way CI5 was, the way _Bodie_  was, he'd gone to Julia. He'd _been_  a rock, rather than leaned on one.

Doyle pulled into his garage and went up to his flat. It was twenty past ten. The evening shouldn't have been half over yet. He sighed as he let himself in, and switched on the lights. He put the kettle and the TV on, and poured himself a glass of gin while he waited for both to warm up. The picture swam into focus: the News at Ten, just finishing. It was going to be grey tomorrow. Surprise fucking surprise.

The kettle whistled. Doyle made himself a cup of tea and sat down to drink it in front of some mindless, lightweight film. The plot and characters went straight over his head. They weren't real. They were too bloody happy to be real.

Doyle was seriously considering doing his best impression of a rock star and hurling the offending item out the window, when his phone rang. It was just gone eleven-fifteen. Doyle could only think of three people who might call at this hour. One was Daphne, perhaps reconsidering her early exit from the date, or sizzling with belated anger and wanting to tear a few strips off the man who'd taken her out and virtually ignored her for two hours. Another was Cowley, whom Doyle was just irritable enough to hang up on; damn the consequences. And the third ...

'It's Bodie.'

'Oh. Hello. I thought you were ... how are you holding a phone?'

'I'm managing. I thought _you'd_  be ...'

'Didn't work out,' Doyle said curtly.

'Neither did mine,' Bodie snapped. Neither of them liked to admit a failure with the opposite sex. Tension hung in the air as Doyle ignored Bodie's tone and tried to think of what to say next, while knowing that Bodie was doing exactly the same thing.

'Look, I'm bored,' said Bodie, after a minute. 'And I'm not a bit tired. D'you want to come over?'

'Not sure I ...' Doyle began.

'There's a rather drinkable brandy in it for you.'

'Ah, seduction is it?' Doyle couldn't resist teasing.

'Not necessarily,' replied Bodie, but with mischief in his voice.

'Was going to say, I'm not sure I fancy being second choice, Bodie.'

'Well then you'd _definitely_  better come over, so I can explain why that's not true.'

Doyle considered this. Bodie had sounded sincere. And annoyed. Almost as if Doyle had slighted his honour.

'Alright,' Doyle said resignedly. 'I'll be there in twenty minutes. Just let me get out of this monkey suit.'

'Suit? You?' Bodie laughed.

'We-e-ell, sort of.'

'OK, you slip into something more comfortable, darling, and I'll see you soon,' Bodie camped.

'Fucking hell, next you'll be refusing to put the phone down unless I hang up first.'

'What, me?'

'Good _bye_ , Bodie.'

Doyle burst into silent laughter at the heavy breathing that started on the other end of the line. He called Bodie a particularly foul name and hung up, feeling better despite himself. He also liked the idea that Bodie had sounded fed up when he rang, yet cheerful by the end of the conversation. When he actually saw him, he changed his mind. Bodie didn't look cheerful at all.

'Hey, are you all right?' he asked, once they were settled on Bodie's couch with a glass each of the promised brandy. Doyle had insisted on pouring it, despite Bodie's insistence that he could manage. He couldn't bear to watch his partner struggling with two bandaged hands.

'Oh, I'll be OK,' Bodie hedged.

'You'll _be_  OK. You're not now. What happened? You and Julia have a row, did you?'

'Chance'd be a fine thing,' Bodie muttered. 'Chucked me, didn't she?'

'She _what?_ '

'Yeah. Said she got a glimpse of the real me and didn't like what she saw. Said I was crazy. Said I risked all their lives for my own ego …' Bodie's voice was sardonic, defensive, and it trailed off hopelessly at the end. Doyle, meanwhile, was growing steadily angrier. Before he knew it he was on his feet, railing at Bodie, gesturing wildly in the air, his voice rising and rising.

'That bitch -- how _dare_  she?! You only saved her bloody life … fuck, it wasn't _your_  fault you ran into Franz Myer! I mean, what, does she expect you to leave him to blow up half of London? Or maybe she wanted you to sit round the same table with the bastard, have a nice cup of tea and talk it all out, eh? Of all the stupid … what the fuck are you smiling at, Bodie? D'you think this is _funny?_ '

He didn't wait for Bodie to answer. 'Oh, I know you, easy come easy go, well you don't fool me. If she hurt you I'm not surprised. She's not meant to say you're crazy; she's meant to fall at your feet, tell you you're brave and you're her hero and -- actually, no, you don't need any of that crap, what you needed was _me,_  watching your back' -- he jabbed himself in the chest for emphasis -- 'not some fickle hysterical bird! You could've … what _are_  you smiling at?'

'You,' said Bodie. He stood up and faced Doyle. The smile disappeared from his face, giving way to an intense, smouldering glare that turned Doyle's insides to mush. Bodie was standing so close that Doyle could feel the heat coming off his skin. He could feel the electricity, the mounting sexual tension between them. Magic. That energy was worth the odd harsh word.

'Not only did you save my life today,' Bodie told him, and then the smile was back: an indulgent, affectionate look, 'you stand there ranting like a madman because my girlfriend's dumped me and you're more upset than I am about it. And you think you'd be my second choice? Bloody hell.'

'So I'm not, then … ohh, Jesus.'

Bodie's lips were on the pulse in his neck. His hands had flown to Doyle's hips while he was speaking, holding him gently, unable to do more. Doyle's hands flailed for a moment, then he forgot all thoughts of restraint and threw his arms around his partner's shoulders. 

 _I'm going to tell him,_ he thought, desire making him reckless. _Now's the time. Now or never._

'Bodie,' he said -- well, moaned, because Bodie's tongue was doing something indescribable to his left earlobe. Bodie pulled Doyle towards him, grinding their crotches together, and Doyle momentarily forgot how to construct a sentence.

'Oh Christ …' he gasped, then he tried again: 'Bodie.'

'Don't,' Bodie told him, the word a harsh whisper, mouth close to his ear. He eased the jacket off Doyle's shoulders and began to undo his shirt buttons one-handed, wincing when the action strained the damaged tendons in his right hand. But Doyle didn't object. He didn't want to injure Bodie's pride, especially when he seemed so determined to take control. Bodie kissed his way from his throat to his nipples, teasing the hair on his chest with the short, blunt fingernails of his right hand, which then raked along Doyle's ribs. Only then did Bodie qualify what he'd said.

'Don't try and argue about it. Don't try and rationalise it. You want me, don't you? God, I can feel it.'

'Of course I …' Doyle began, but Bodie cut him off, his voice low, almost guttural, tightly controlled, and angry.

'I understand that you wouldn't want to feel like second best. Hell, nor would I. But I'd _never_  use you as a consolation prize -- I've too much respect for you, you know that! Or you _should_  know it. But you surely ought to have known -- when I heard you calling me, when I saw you come into that attic -- do you have _any_  fucking idea how badly I wanted you? Ray, I thought I'd had it; I thought we'd never …'

Bodie paused for a minute to collect himself. His eyes were still smouldering, his hands, bandages and all, caressing Doyle from his chest to his stomach, while below the waist he continued to grind slowly, gently, against him. The feel of the bandages wasn't Doyle's precise idea of eroticism, but it was damned good anyway, probably just because it was Bodie, and they hadn't touched each other sexually in six days, because they'd been too busy with the job, and women, and Bodie getting shot, and the whole Myer-Helmut debacle … it was a frustrating, almost _painful_ pleasure, but instinct told Doyle to stay still, allow himself to be touched. Let Bodie take the lead physically, just as he was insisting on doing the talking.

'If I'd let you keep touching me a moment longer I think I'd've ruined both our lives. I tried to tell you by looking at you. Trust you to misunderstand. I couldn't have gone off with you when Julia was in such a state, but now she's told me to get lost I'm free to do what I bloody well want.' Bodie's expression finally softened, as he finished: 'And that's you, mate.'

'OK,' Doyle conceded. 'I'm sorry. There was no need for all that.'

'Yes there was. I know you. You dwell on things. I'm not letting you dwell on this.'

Doyle nodded, and gave Bodie a wry smile. All right, so he'd won this round. Didn't mean Doyle couldn't claw back a little advantage.

'You're dwelling a little long on foreplay, aren't you?' he asked sweetly.

'I'd've thought you'd admire my restraint,' said Bodie. 'I admire yours. You're usually all over me by this stage. You always know, don't you?'

'What?'

'Exactly what I need.'

'It's my job to know, sunshine,' said Doyle, touched by the remark. 'Clear enough you're running this show tonight.'

'Too right I am.'

Grinning arrogantly, Bodie removed the sweatshirt, t-shirt and vest he was wearing. Then he reached for Doyle and pulled him close, pressing their bare upper bodies together. He brought his head to rest against Doyle's, so that their noses and foreheads were touching. Doyle fought the urge to kiss him -- to wrestle him to the floor -- to rip his trousers off and ravish him, hard -- anything, in fact, but the state of unresponsiveness into which Bodie had forced him, simply by wanting it. It wasn't in Doyle's power to deny Bodie anything, but it was hard, when what Bodie wanted was nothing.

Ironically, Bodie breathed 'Fuck, I want you,' into those thoughts. _That_ , Doyle could cope with. 

'Take me then. Do what you want,' Doyle answered, staring his sincerity into Bodie's eyes. 'Anything you want. Christ, Bodie, I don't even know what you've been waiting for!'

'Nor do I,' admitted Bodie. 'Alright, come on, get 'em off.'

His voice had switched like lightning to a tone of command. It was such a quick change of mood that Doyle hesitated through sheer surprise. Bodie stepped back and looked expectantly at him.

'I _said_ , get them _off!_  Jeans, shoes and socks, come on!'

Obediently, Doyle toed off his trainers. He unzipped his fly, pushed down his jeans, stepped out of them, and bent over to take off his socks. He could hear Bodie behind him, breathing hard as he removed the rest of his clothes. Trust the stupid git to insist on doing it all himself. Doyle winced at every hiss of breath that signified Bodie overdoing the activities of his injured hands.

'Little bastard, you would have to give me that angle!' Bodie said cheerfully. Predictably, there was no hint of discomfort in his voice. 'You're fucking asking for it, sunshine.'

'Course I'm asking for it, you pillock, you've persistently not given it to me for half a bloody hour,' Doyle retorted, straightening up. Bodie was opening the top drawer of the table beside his couch. Doyle's glance travelled over his broad white back, the rounded curves of his arse, and the long, powerful legs. He caught his breath. _God, he's mine tonight._  Then Bodie turned back to face him, and Doyle's vision was assaulted again, this time with a hard, muscular torso, perfectly sculpted but for a slight, and to Doyle endearing, softness around the belly. This was partially obscured now, though, by the rock-hard penis standing up against it. At the sight of Bodie's erection, Doyle felt his own straining to a painful hardness. It was all so familiar, yet Doyle's memory never did Bodie justice. He hadn't seen his partner naked in nearly a week, and looking at him now was as close to seeing him for the first time as it got after nearly five months. But that didn't mean Doyle failed to appreciate the part of Bodie he saw every day and never tired of: the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

'I put this in here in case we needed it quickly,' Bodie explained, holding up a tube of KY. He bounded over to join Doyle before he could reply, and practically wrestled him to the floor. It was only Doyle's well-practised landing that saved him from a highly inconvenient carpet burn.

'Watch your hands!' Doyle warned.

'I'll be OK,' Bodie insisted. 'Stop thinking about my hands. I'm fine.'

'Bodie, the tendons in your right hand are damaged. Your left middle finger's broken. You're obviously doing more with them than you're meant to, and now you're clearly proposing to fuck me -- how the hell can I _not_  think about your hands?'

'Worried, are you?'

'Yes, if you must know!'

'Thanks but no thanks,' said Bodie. 'When I need help I'll ask for it. Ray?'

'What?'

'Help, please.' With a teasing grin, he gave Doyle the tube. Frowning, Doyle took it.

'Now you must admit I asked nicely,' Bodie said, watching Doyle squeeze a generous amount of lubricant onto his palm.

'Shut up,' said Doyle. He grabbed Bodie's cock in a slicked hand, and gave it a firm pull from root to tip.

'Yeah,' Bodie groaned. 'More of that.'

Doyle did it again, but he stopped when the shaft was fully coated. 'Don't want you going off too soon.' He squeezed some more stuff onto his fingers and lay back on the floor, spreading his thighs, displaying himself to his partner.

'Oh God, Ray.'

'Like what you see?' Doyle asked, grinning up at him. Then his breath caught, as he entered himself with his right index finger, pressing in up to its first joint. As much for a release of feeling as to tease, he added: 'Fuck, that feels good.' He felt a deep-seated satisfaction when Bodie whimpered. He wiggled and twisted his finger, sending waves of pleasure through his nerve endings and into his groin. Bodie, gazing at him with pure hunger, didn't help. Doyle's balls drew up tight and he longed for his cock to be touched, but he resisted the temptation. He reached in further, relaxing his muscles, allowing them to pull the finger in. He gasped when he found his prostate, not daring to press there too much yet, just craving that one jolt of pleasure, the reminder of what it would feel like to have Bodie inside him. Then he withdrew a little, and added his left index finger to the mix, pressing both inside him to the knuckles, stretching himself open. Bodie looked ready to explode, but he didn't touch himself -- couldn't, poor bastard. Doyle fought a sudden desire to laugh, and decided to show some mercy.

'Ready,' he told Bodie. 'So how's the best way to do this? Me on top of you, I s'pose. Lie back, I'll ride you.'

'Oh no, mate, I told you, _I'm_ running this show. Stay like that.'

On his knees, Bodie shuffled awkwardly over to Doyle. But Ray sat up and moved before Bodie could position himself between his legs.

'Bodie, you can't!' he protested. 'You'd have to put too much pressure on your hands. Now come on, don't be an idiot,' he added firmly, as Bodie opened his mouth to argue. He had a sudden idea, something they'd never tried before, and he wasn't going to let his partner's pride spoil it.

'Trust me, you'll still be in control, just lie back, will you?'

He shoved Bodie backwards. Caught off guard, he fell, helpless. Doyle had him pinned before he could do anything.

'Stay,' he ordered, with an affectionate grin. He wanted to kiss Bodie's mouth, but Bodie hadn't made any such move towards him tonight, so he settled for nuzzling his neck. Then he laid himself over Bodie, on his back, spreading his legs. He glanced sideways to gauge the look on Bodie's face.

'Oh, I see,' said Bodie, managing a smile even though his eyes were glazed with lust.

'I think of everything,' Doyle replied lightly. He shifted himself into position, then let out a soft groan as he pressed the head of Bodie's cock slowly inside him.

'Alright,' he said breathlessly, 'it's up to you now, mate.'

With a long, deep moan, Bodie brought his hips upwards until he was inside Ray to the hilt. He started to thrust, seeking a rhythm, subtly changing the angle of his movements, until …

'Yes! There!'

'Right,' Bodie said, with a wicked chuckle. 'Now the real fun begins. Just lie back, mate -- but think of me, won't you, not England.'

Doyle snorted with laughter, but he soon forgot mirth in the face of pure pleasure. He buried his head in the side of Bodie's neck and let himself be fucked. Bodie's arms were around his waist, anchoring him, and his hips were pistoning up and down with a thrillingly rough abandon. Their position gave Bodie control over his own movements without any need to use his hands, and it gave Doyle the chance to reach down and touch. With one hand he pumped his own cock, and with the other he played with Bodie's balls, squeezing and caressing. Then he lowered his hand a little further -- he couldn't quite reach enough to penetrate, but he allowed his fingers to brush along Bodie's perineum and tease the entrance to his body. Bodie's cry of surprised ecstasy was almost a scream. It sent Doyle past the point of no return. His climax started deep inside him, spreading white heat through his pelvis, until he came in bursts over his fist, stomach and chest, his muscles clenching around Bodie's cock and finishing him in turn.

 _Next time, we do that in front of a mirror,_ Doyle thought, as Bodie's cries subsided. _Bet that looked bloody marvellous._

They were breathless and shaking, drenched in sweat, coming down off their mutual high. Doyle's cock was flaccid and sticky against his thigh, and Bodie's equally sated organ was trapped between their bodies. Then, finally, Bodie kissed Doyle on the lips. Emotion rushed at Doyle and it dawned on him once again what he'd almost said -- what he _could_  say now, except he no longer dared. So he put all that feeling into kissing Bodie back. He kissed his partner with a passion that he'd never felt or displayed for anyone before. But Bodie, exhausted as he was, didn't really seem to notice. He pulled back from Doyle with a satisfied, sleepy 'Mmmm,' and closed his eyes, seemingly quite happy to kip all night on his living room floor, possibly with Doyle still laid out on top of him.

'Love you,' Doyle mouthed to Bodie's oblivious form. Then he rolled off his partner and stretched out beside him, watching him sleep until he drifted off himself. He resolved to be happy with what he had: his best friend, alive. If he'd never be able to ask for anything more, that had to be enough.


End file.
